Vacation Reap
by Chooser of the Slain
Summary: Joyce recieves a visitor. Rating for language. BtVS - DLM.


_My note: The characters and concepts belong to their own respective owners._

_For those of you who don't know, "Dead Like Me" centres around a young girl George whose life is "snuffed out by a toilet seat" falling from orbit. Upon dying, she learns she's become a reaper._

_I encourage everyone to watch it, and I hope I've done justice to George's character._

_This is set after the second season of Dead Like Me, and the fifth of Buffy, and I've had to play with the timelines a little. Please, let me know what you think.  
_

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**Vacation Reap**

_Someone once said, "a vacation is having nothing to do, and all day to do it." Well, that's not the way it works with me._

_My name is George Lass, and I've been dead for a little over two years. Well, _un_dead actually. Now, I'm a grim reaper, and I take souls for a living._

_And that's what brought me here, on what was supposed to be my vacation: 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale California._

George glanced down at her post-it again. It was a cheerful pink. What kind of fucked up town was this, where the post-its were pink?

There was something going on here – something strange – and it wasn't just the pink post-its that hinted at it. The way people acted around here… Even the local reapers, Jesse in particular… George didn't want to think about it. She wasn't going to be around long enough to find out anyway.

She found herself walking up the driveway, up to the porch. It was an ordinary house, in an ordinary neighbourhood, in an ordinary town, and, as such, there was nothing particularly unique about this porch, this front door.

George rang the doorbell a couple of times. After a moment, a middle-aged woman answered the door. She had curly shoulder-length golden brown hair, warm hazel eyes, and a face which bore more than its share of anxiety.

"Yes?"

"Hi," said George, putting on her brightest smile. "I'm looking for a J. Summers?"

"I'm Joyce Summers," the woman offered, frowning slightly.

George held out her hand, to shake Joyce's. Joyce took her hand and shook it. The older woman frowned slightly, almost as if she'd felt something when George popped her soul.

"My name's Millie," said George. "I just wanted to, uh, ask you how your day was going? I-is there anything I can do?"

_Because you're going to die this morning._

"Are you from the hospital?" Joyce asked, frowning slightly.

"Yes," George replied brightly, giving Joyce another one of her smiles.

_I didn't know why I wanted to help this lady. She was a total stranger, but there was something about her._

_So I smiled, and nodded, and pretended to be something I wasn't. If Daisy could only see me now…_

"Please, come in," Joyce said, returning George's smile with a little more sincerity. She took a step back, and opened the door a little wider, allowing George to step through. George couldn't help but notice Joyce's eyes drift to the morning sky, almost as though she was checking to see that the hot Californian sun was still shining.

"Would you like some coffee?" Joyce asked.

"Sure," George responded.

"The kitchen is just through here," Joyce said, leading the way through her home to an immaculate kitchen. Joyce busied herself, getting the coffee ready.

George watched her work, wondering how this lady would die. Her imagination ran wild for a moment; she'd seen some pretty off-the-wall deaths in her short career as a grim reaper. George glanced around, checking out her surroundings, checking for Gravelings.

"I didn't know the hospital was going to be sending anyone."

"Huh?" George asked, snapping back to reality.

"I said, I didn't think the hospital was going to send anyone," Joyce said, smiling.

"Oh, well, you know how it is…" George said, thinking fast, smiling to cover for herself. She drew on her experience at Happy Time. "The paperwork's probably just hung up in the administration somewhere."

"Oh," said Joyce. She smiled. "Yes."

"What did you go in for?" George asked, a little hesitantly. "If you don't mind my asking."

"I had to have a biopsy," Joyce said. She gave George a curious look. "I had a tumour but I'm going to be fine."

_No, you're not._

"Oh," George said.

"Didn't they tell you this at the hospital?" Joyce asked. There was a note of suspicion in her voice.

"Well, yeah," George said. She glanced quickly at her watch. Less than ten minutes to go. "I guess I forgot?"

The coffee finished brewing, and Joyce had laid out a few cookies on a plate. She put the plate on a tray, along with two mugs and the coffee pot. George followed her to what had to be the Summers family room.

Joyce settled herself on the couch, and George found herself sitting across from the older woman.

"You're not from the hospital, are you, Millie?" Joyce asked, after a long moment.

"No," George answered. She studiously avoided Joyce's questioning eyes.

"Did my daughter put you up to this?" Joyce asked. "Are you a friend of hers? Buffy is a sweet girl, but she worries too much."

"She doesn't worry enough," George said quietly. She pulled her post-it from her pocket. She glanced down at her watch. Only a little time to go now.

"E-excuse me?" Joyce said, frowning slightly, confused.

"I'm sorry," said George. She stood up. "I should get going. I just wanted to know if you were okay."

"But you haven't touched your coffee," Joyce said, indicating the full cup of steaming hot coffee.

George watched the seconds tick away on her watch. Joyce stiffened, suddenly, like she was having a seizure. She gasped for breath once, then her body went limp, falling to the floor.

_And just like that, she was dead - something so stupid and trivial as a complication from surgery._

"You really should finish your coffee, Millie," Joyce's ghost insisted.

George nodded, downing her coffee in a single go. She picked up the tray, and brought it back to the kitchen. She found herself a zip-lock baggy and put the cookies inside, pocketing the package. She put the plate in the sink, along with the two coffee cups.

When she came back into the family room, Joyce was still standing over her own dead body, looking down at herself. It had to be… disconcerting.

"So I'm dead?" Joyce asked, frowning slightly.

George nodded her head. "Looks like."

"What happens now? What about my girls?" Joyce asked anxiously.

"I don't know," George replied, shrugging. Joyce's eyes were distant. George followed her line of sight. The older woman's eyes were fixed on a photo, a portrait of her two girls sitting on the mantle.

George picked the photo up, studying the two girls. The older of the two, a blonde, had long hair pushed back behind her ears. Her green eyes were bright.

The younger girl had darker, brown hair. Her face was pale, not as tan as her sister's. Her eyes were blue. She looked nothing like her sister.

_The picture reminded me of me and Reggie. This reap really affected me. This vacation wasn't such a good idea, after all._

"Are these your kids?" George asked, though the answer was obvious.

"Yes," said Joyce. She moved to look over George's shoulder. She reached out to touch the photo. Her fingers, insubstantial, became little more than whirls of dust as she brushed her daughters' images. Startled, she pulled her hand back, and it reformed.

"Buffy and Dawn… Are you sure you don't know what's going to happen to them?" Joyce asked.

"They'll probably be alright," George offered, shrugging. "That's not really your problem anymore."

"I don't suppose there's any way I could leave them a message, is there?" Joyce asked.

"Nope, sorry," George said. She left that to sink in, putting the picture back in its place on the mantle.

A long moment passed in silence. She looked to Joyce. "Are you ready to go?"

Another long moment passed, and Joyce nodded her head. George left the house, careful to shut the front door behind her, and Joyce followed.

_As I watched Joyce go to her lights, I made myself a promise: this was the last time I'd fucking volunteer for one of Rube's extra-credit reaps._


End file.
